


The Hallowe'en Truce

by SibylHarkness



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 01:58:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16420190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SibylHarkness/pseuds/SibylHarkness
Summary: The war rages on beyond the Battle of Hogwarts, both sides racing to take control of the remaining parts of Wizarding Britain. When the Order's soldiers and the younger Death Eaters come together one Halloween, a group of war-weary soldiers begin to reminisce and two star-crossed lovers are desperate to steal a few moments together.





	The Hallowe'en Truce

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Welcome to my first ever fanfiction! I hope you all enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it. The biggest thanks in the world to my amazing beta LabelladoneX, I couldn't have done it without her! <3 Happy Hallowe'en all!
> 
> P.S. this is a HP and Hallowe'en twist on the Christmas truce during the Great War where the two sides came together to play football on Christmas Day :)

Christmas in wizarding Britain, just like its Muggle counterpart, is a highly celebrated tradition. It presents a rare opportunity for family gatherings as children return home from Hogwarts to celebrate with food and gift-giving. However, it is not a wizarding tradition, taking its origin from Muggle Christianity. All Hallows’ Eve on the other hand — although adopted by Muggles as Hallowe’en — is a wizarding custom, descended from pagan rites and passed through the ages. As such it represents a significant opportunity for all wizarding kind to reconnect with their magic once a year and so can be considered the most highly respected holiday. Across the wizarding world, a wide range of festivities are observed paying homage to departed ancestors — from infamous feasts at Hogwarts to Celtic blood rituals. Whatever custom may be celebrated, there is one unspoken rule that the day is indeed acknowledged.

However, respecting the tradition since the stalemate at the Battle of Hogwarts has become difficult. Although Harry Potter defied death once again, each side sustained such high losses that it was impossible to determine a victor. In the three years that passed since that day, wizarding Britain was turned into a war zone compiled of dark and light controlled land, with those unwilling to join a side disappearing underground or abandoning the country. The Ministry fell to pieces and what little remained was no more than a farce. Leadership was given to whichever side controlled the area and the current mentality depicted the winning side as the one with more ground. This made the little grey areas of No Man’s Land shiny prizes which both sides eagerly coveted. Armies met in these places and mercilessly aimed to kill as many of the opposition as possible so that they might lay claim to the few miles of land, viewing them as one step closer to finishing a never-ending war.

Three weeks before All Hallows’ Eve, the Order of the Phoenix planned a raid into a particular No Man’s Land. The second they stepped over the threshold, wards were activated, calling Lord Voldemort’s army to them. The Order valiantly fought their way to an abandoned warehouse, drawing their lines of ownership with them. Unfortunately, as they moved forward so did the Death Eaters, meeting across a Muggle street in their own run-down factory building and making the captured ground almost meaningless. Both sides were haggard and war-worn so that, if a mirror was placed down the centre of the street, no one would recognise themselves.

The armies worked hard to set up their new stations, erecting magical defences even as they prepared their weapons. Anti-Apparition wards were laid before the battle had even begun, each side recognising it as an advantage in attack but an even more significant gap in their defences.

Hermione checked the effectiveness of their shield, passing her hand through with ease but unable to pass her lit wand through the haze. She looked up, squinting her eyes to see the shimmering twin shield opposite rising as high and wide as the eye could see. Lowering her gaze once more, she saw a flash of white move past the factory window, her heart clenching at the unnecessary confirmation that he was there and a small, sad sigh escaped her lips.

“Hermione!” Harry beckoned her to join the gathered circle of child soldiers who led the war at the front. “Are the shields in place?” He asked when she reached his side. She nodded.

“Good.” Bill nodded, looking back down at the map in front of him.

Unsurprisingly, Bill made a very effective battle commander, calling back to his days as Head Boy. Harry had welcomed the break from leadership when it had tentatively been suggested to him, the lines on his face relaxing for the first time in years. Of course Bill didn’t make all of the decisions, most of those came by Patronus from the war cabinet which was made up of the original Order’s surviving members. Many of the would-be students resented them, hidden away safely in their unplottable headquarters and only arriving at a battle after the ground had been won.

“What’s the plan now?” asked Dean Thomas.

Bill looked up and met Harry’s eye, sharing an unspoken word.

“HQ sent orders for us to push on,” he stated, his resigned features expecting the noisy complaints and sounds of outrage that followed.

“We’ll die!” Seamus Finnigan snarled, disgust at the lack of respect for human life twisting his face. The sentiment was echoed around the room until Bill raised his hand.

“I’m going to delay the plan, for now. I’m hopeful that You-Know-Who will have similar ideas. If we keep watch day and night, we can pick the Death Eaters off if they make a move.”

“Is that it?” Zacharias Smith snorted, disdain evident in his features.

“Well, do any of you have a better plan?” Bill forced through his teeth, the cracks in his composure breaking even as they watched.  
The group dissolved into muttered words and shuffling feet until all eyes fell on Hermione, her reputation for impossible plans coming to everyone’s mind.

“Eh… well… I’m… I’m sort of working on… on something...” She stuttered, racking her mind for any traces of a plan but coming up empty. The air was filled with scoffs and angry words until Bill gained their attention once again and started giving out watch schedules. Hermione didn’t resent their annoyance; everybody was bone tired of the war and emotions had been running high for as long as she could remember. The least she could do was give them some hope.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************

Only two days passed before the Death Eaters made a break across the street but they were shot down quickly as they entered the small plot of No Man’s Land. Many of them fell and didn’t rise again — the Order having learned long ago that anything less often meant fighting the same enemy twice. It didn’t sit well in any of their hearts, but war made the most difficult decisions seem rational and unavoidable.

Hermione held her breath when he stepped out, his grey eyes finding hers in the upper story window. She fired a spell, the light coming out red and not green. The look in his eyes told her he understood and he fell without raising his wand against her.

Ginny Weasley glanced over but said nothing. Later that night, after the retreat had been sounded, the Death Eaters summoned the bodies of those still alive back through the factory doors — Draco Malfoy’s along with them.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************

A week passed with no further movement from either side, just constant surveillance and the odd spell fired to test the other’s defences and response times. Everyone was restless — tired of battle rations already and longing to sleep in a real bed. More often than not, when doing her rounds, Hermione would find the two most unimaginable people coming together in the darkest hour of night, looking for comfort in each other’s bodies. She tried not to disturb them when this happened, not begrudging anyone a moment of lost senses in a world that had gone mad itself. But she would often find herself wandering away, lost in the recesses of her past — usually in some broom cupboard or unused classroom — when she’d experienced her own insanity. Pale skin and supple muscles would flash behind her eyes and the ghost of his touch would shiver up her spine. On one such occasion, Hermione’s vacant wandering had taken her to a small side room lit from within. She hesitated outside as she became aware of urgent hushed voices.

“...getting more and more annoyed each time I delay,” the first voice said — Bill’s, she determined.

“They don’t understand!” The second’s whispered exclamation came — Harry’s, for sure. “They aren’t here. They don’t see the damage, the deaths! What would it achieve?”

“I know, I understand,” Bill snapped. “But what else are we going to do?”

Harry gave no reply to that.

“We can’t keep refusing them,” Bill continued “Come morning we’re going to have to push forward.”

“People will die, Bill,” Harry pleaded.

“I said, I know. But what else can we do?” Bill repeated; this was clearly a conversation the pair of them were fed up of having.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************

When the sun rose, everyone was woken and gathered in one of the largest storage rooms.

“Today is the day we attack them,” Bill announced. “Team A, led by Ron, will push forward and take as much fire as they can. Harry’s Team B will follow, providing covering fire. Team C with Hermione will work to move the shield lines forward to gain as much ground as we can. They are to be protected at all costs until that is achieved and we can call the retreat.”

“Call the retreat?” Someone in the crowd echoed. “So you don’t expect us to actually break their lines?”

Bill glanced at Harry, clearly uncomfortable and speechless for a moment.

“Eh... if — during the attack — we make it to the factory, we have plans in place ready to be activated. For now though, the priority is to move the shields and gain the upper hand.”

“Yeah, cos a few more metres of dirt road are really going to tip the balance,” came Zacharias’s sarcastic response.

Ignoring the comment, Bill nodded. “Right, gear up and gather with your respective leaders.”

Five minutes later, Hermione met the eyes of her terrified team members, those most gifted in charms. “It will be okay,” she murmured. But who she was comforting, no one knew.

The room fell silent as everyone prepared their wands, waiting on Bill’s word to blast the doors open and make the charge. The tension in the room was palpable and sweat dripped down Hermione’s face.

“Ready!” She closed her eyes. “Steady!” She took a deep breath. “NOW!” She opened her eyes and ran straight into Hell.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************

The battle was bloody but short; Hermione and her team managed to move the shields halfway across the street, but it felt like an empty victory. Seven people died and thirteen more were injured. Most were from different squads that she didn’t know, but Oliver Wood’s pale and unmoving face would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Many a tear was shed and an angry word spoken in the days that followed, but it didn’t mean anything; it didn’t change anything. One night, Hermione was jolted from her restless sleep to the sound of screams. She scrambled out of bed only to find Ginny’s arms already around Hannah Abbott who was clearly suffering an emotional breakdown. Ginny shook her head at the question in Hermione’s eyes and so she returned to her temporary bed, only to lie awake for the remainder of the night.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************

Rumours had begun to circle within the gathered army of a weapon being developed back at Headquarters that could punch through the Death Eaters’ shields. It raised hope whenever it was mentioned but Hermione — ever the cynic — couldn’t help but think that anything that powerful could exact the same results on their own shields.

She hated being right sometimes.

When the weapon eventually arrived, it caught everyone by surprise. Hermione woke to urgent voices; there was movement on the Death Eaters’ side, they said. She was instantly awake and surrounded by chaos, conversations flew past her and she heard several mentions of the weapon. With her heart in her throat, she raced to the window and saw it for the first time.

The Order promised the weapon would be ready any day now but, to their soldiers’ dismay, it appeared that the Death Eaters had managed to get their hands on the weapon’s blueprints. It was heartbreaking to think a mole could exist in their midst but this was war. Anything was possible. People would do anything if they were promised enough. So they woke that morning to their weapon looking straight back at them.

The weapon was clearly a medieval cannon that had been adapted by magic. As a trusted member of the Order and a highly intelligent woman, Hermione had been consulted by the creators and so had a basic understanding of its mechanics. Specially constructed hollow cannon balls had been made to hold a potion - what kind she didn’t know. When the fuse was lit, the potion would reach activation temperature and a magical pulse would explode from the firing cylinder, decimating any spells in its path.

Panic filled eyes were everywhere but — before anyone could decide on a course of action — a deafening boom shook the warehouse. All heads turned to the road with bated breath. Time seemed to stop as their shields cracked and splintered — the risk of shattering critical — before they slowly reformed. Instantly, Hermione pulled out her wand and began casting backup defences and a heartbeat later others joined her efforts.

The tide of Death Eaters — who had also rushed out to follow the attack — slowed and looked around, uncertainty written on their faces. Several more shots were fired from the acclaimed weapon without success. Order members across the warehouse ran to the windows and took advantage of the chaos by raining spells down on the Death Eaters. The attack was quickly neutralised thereafter, with many Death Eaters slaughtered where they stood without ever raising their wands.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************

Afterwards, Hermione could see the sickening realisation of their near miss on all the faces around her. The weapon had been meant for their use and had they developed it first… she shuddered at the thought.

“A SPY!” Ron spat, enraged at the prospect. “There must be! A traitor, at HQ!”

“Bill, we have to tell them.” Harry urged.

“I know,” Bill agreed, “but how without alerting the traitor?”

“We can’t,” Hermione stated bluntly. “It doesn’t matter; they know we know now anyway. And it’s not like we know who it is, so what’s the difference?” Her reasoning left them all silent. “Besides, they did us a favour. If we’d used the weapon, it would have been us dead on the ground out there today.”

They turned in unison to look onto the street where the unseeing bodies of Voldemort’s dead had been thrown.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************

When the morning of All Hallows’ Eve broke, it revealed two broken sides; both had made several attacks and received losses as their reward. The Death Eaters had managed to move their shield lines forward again during their most recent attack so that No Man’s Land was now reduced to a few short strides.

The lack of plan had left an air of hopelessness which permeated the warehouse. No one could think of any effective action, and Hermione felt the weight of it on her shoulders. Those at HQ continued to play chess with their lives, willing to sacrifice their pawns without a blink of an eyelid.

As the night’s watch came to an end, the people gathered around a fire in the main room. Someone passed a bottle of spirit around and, for a while, the only sound was the swallowing of liquid, that burning sensation the most anyone there could feel.

“It’s Hallowe’en.” Someone — Neville, Hermione thought — croaked out, his voice cracking from disuse. Nobody answered him, so he tried again.

“Remember the feast at Hogwarts on Hallowe’en?” He asked no one in particular. “Not even the Leaving Feast was as good as that.”

Ron — ever ruled by his stomach — perked up at the mention of food. “Oh, yeah! Remember the pies? Mmmmm.”

Hermione allowed a small smile at this. Others soon picked up the train of thought, reminiscing about the cauldrons of lollipops and the thousand live bats.

“Remember that terrible Deathday Party we went to one year and the awful food, Harry?” Ron asked, turning to his best friend who — thus far — had said nothing. Upon seeing his face, the metaphorical penny dropped for Ron.

“Oh… mate, I’m so sorry…” His voice trailed off awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

For many years, the day that baby Harry Potter unknowingly defeated Lord Voldemort had been a historical event to celebrate. Now, many saw it as an empty triumph considering the long-suffering battles they were currently enduring. But, to Harry, it would always be the day he lost his parents, and the people present were mature enough to respect that.

After a long silence, The Boy Who Lived finally spoke up. “It’s alright, y’know, mate. You can keep going. Remember the troll?”

Seamus perked up at that and began an exaggerated re-enactment of Quirrell’s ‘Troll! In the dungeon!’ That, at least, seemed to make everyone laugh.

“Remember the year Neville wrote down all the passwords and let Sirius in! You should have seen McGonagall’s face!” Dean howled.

“What about the year I opened the Chamber of Secrets for the first time?” Ginny said wryly into Hermione’s ear. Hermione studied her face carefully and determined that her friend was resolutely unaffected by the admission, and so decided to add her own memory.

“Well, I will always remember Harry’s face the year the Goblet of Fire spat his name out, and Ronald—” Hermione looked pointedly at him “—had a tantrum! Oh, and the twins grew those beards.” She grinned, everybody laughing along with her — sad for the loss but happy with the memories.

Ron decidedly ignored Hermione’s jibe and said, “I remember even before we went to Hogwarts, we would always play Quidditch in the afternoon before our own family feast.”

Many in the group expressed similar experiences, putting a smile on their faces.

“Well… I have an old football in my pack…” Dean suggested offhandedly, taking in the feel of the group.

Ginny soon picked up his train of thought excitedly. “We could get the brooms we use for aerial surveillance and have a game! Go above the warehouse? The shields should protect us, right, Hermione?”

Hopeful eyes turned to look at her. “Well, yes, they would but I don’t think this is the best idea…” She replied doubtfully.

“Right, it’s settled then,” Harry decided. “We have to celebrate Hallowe’en somehow, and Quidditch seems just about the best way to do it, I think.”

“Yes, but… hang on a minute!” But Hermione’s cries fell on deaf ears and she soon gave up, not wanting to spoil the lightest mood felt in the warehouse since their arrival.

********************************************************************************************************************************************

They reconvened on the roof of the warehouse, childlike grins on all of their faces. Seamus was handing out the brooms and offered her one. “You playing, Hermione?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Laughed Ron.

“Uhm... no. I’m okay, thank you, Seamus. I’m a spectator anyway,” Hermione replied.

“Suit yourself!” He exclaimed and, having given out the last broom, took off on his own.

For a long while there were sounds of laughter as they passed the ball between them, swooping and diving, making pretend Quidditch plays — the years seemed to melt from their faces. Many of the Order members who weren’t playing joined Hermione on the roof and just enjoyed watching.

Before long a group of Death Eaters ventured onto their own roof, masks off as they looked over at the impromptu Quidditch match, the longing in their faces evident. Most of them were their old schoolmates, the older Death Eaters choosing to stay away.

Hermione’s eyes raked over the crowd until they met with his. There was a long pause in which a thousand words passed between them, though she could not say what they were. Someone said her name, but she didn’t hear it until it was repeated along with a tap on the arm.

“Hmm… what?” She looked up.

“Hermione, are you okay?” Bill asked, looking concerned, his eyes glancing over to the factory roof. Her eyes followed his but the grey pair she had just connected with had already turned away to speak to someone nearby.

“Here, drink this,” Bill continued, handing her a cup of warm tea.

“Thank you,” she murmured, returning her gaze to the sky.

Hermione watched as play continued, her soul momentarily at peace with the world. That was until the ball was tossed to Neville whose back was to the shield, and he accidentally missed it. Dean’s football soared over the empty street and landed on the factory roof.

Nobody moved; nobody made a sound.

One of the Death Eaters knelt and picked it up, his broom already in hand as he beckoned to his companions. They took flight, passing the ball between them as the Order members had. Hermione watched as Draco joined them; from a distance she couldn’t see but, through her memories, she could imagine the flex of his muscles as he flew by with a practiced ease.

There was a collective grumble from above her — mostly aimed at Neville — as the Order members resigned themselves to the loss of their ball until one of the Death Eaters — Theodore Nott, Hermione thought — turned and tossed the ball back towards the Order. Neville caught it this time with ease.

He seemed to think for a moment before nudging his broom forward to take him through the shield. Several people cried out, many more gripping their wands in fear. But no spell raced towards him; that same Death Eater came through his own shield to meet Neville in the centre. No words passed between them but, when the Gryffindor held out his hand it was instantly shaken, sealing their Hallowe’en Truce.

Both teams came together; at first it was slow and awkward, but soon the spirit of the much-loved sport came over them all and the play became natural once again. Laughter and shouts of joy filled the air and all around were smiling.

Hermione caught Draco’s eye and, with a nod, he landed back on the roof, discreetly excusing himself. Hermione did likewise and went down to the ground level where he was already waiting across the street. She turned and began to walk away from the warehouse, watching him from the corner of her eye as he mirrored her movements. Hermione came to another building further down the road that was too small to be worth claiming — probably an old gate hut, she thought. Whilst everyone’s faces were upturned, Hermione nodded her head at the hut and slipped inside. After another quick glance at the two bases, Draco hurried across the street and followed her in. They stood staring, the distance apparent between them.

“Hi,” she breathed.

“Hello,” he returned.

The tension was thick as silence reigned once again, neither knowing what to say — what they could say. But then they were touching; her arms flung around his neck, his hands found her cheek and hair, their bodies pressing tightly together. When their lips met, Hermione felt like it was the first time she could breathe. For a long moment all they did was touch, until their lips parted once more.

He put his forehead against hers. “You’re safe,” he murmured, the relief apparent.

“So are you,” she replied, equally as relieved.

They kissed again, pressing themselves so close that they might become one person. Draco broke the kiss first, pushing a lock of hair back from her face.

“I never thought I would miss Hogwarts, but I’d go back there with you in an instant,” he sighed.

“It all seems a lot easier now, looking back, doesn’t it?” She agreed.

Although they both knew it hadn’t felt easy at the time — stealing desperate moments together whenever they could.

“What are we going to do?” Hermione whispered, as though afraid that he would hear and give her the inevitable answer.

To her surprise, he didn’t.

“Well… we could run away together,” he suggested tentatively, “we could go abroad somewhere, change our names, get a beach house and drink cocktails all day.”

She smiled up at him, endeared by the idea, but shook her head.

“No, I didn’t think so,” he sighed ruefully.

“You know I couldn’t leave Harry,” she replied honestly, “Although… you could join me.”

He looked aghast and she giggled. “I know I’m totally disillusioned with the Dark Lord’s bullshit world, Granger, but I haven’t gone completely mad! Not yet anyway…” His voice trailed off at the end of the sentence and a small blossom of hope began to bud in her heart.

“What are we going to do, Draco?” She repeated sadly, ready this time for the answer.

“Nothing,” he pressed, “continue fighting, steal the moments when we can. Stay alive.”

“Stay alive,” she echoed as he took her in his arms again, drawing her closer than ever before. This time when their lips met they spoke the rest of the conversation for them. All the shoulds and could-bes zipped from her to him and back to her again, like electricity... like magic.

When they finally drew apart they knew it would be the last time; they had to return before they were missed, needed to survive. As their fingertips separated, and they made to move, he called to her.

“Granger… Hermione… stay alive for me, please.”

“I will,” she promised, “and you too.”

He grunted his agreement, his scepticism apparent. “Draco,” she murmured, despairing at his lack of belief, “I love you.”

With those three words he lit up inside, and she knew he wouldn’t give in.

“I love you too, Hermione.” And she recognised the truth.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************

“Where did you get off to earlier?” Harry asked, his green eyes staring at her piercingly.

“Oh, you know Quidditch isn’t my thing. I was cold so I came inside to read,” Hermione replied flippantly.

He held her gaze a little longer but let it slide.

“Quidditch with Death Eaters on All Hallows’ Eve. Who would have thought?” He pondered out loud.

“Hallows…” Hermione muttered, deep in thought.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, acknowledging the glimmer of a plan in her eyes.

“Harry, I think it’s time we get out your dad’s old cloak again. I might just have a plan,” she stated, purpose in her voice.

“I love it when you say that,” Ron said as he entered the room.

And so, the Golden Trio set out again to fight Lord Voldemort with just their wit, their wands and an old cloak. And, whenever Hermione saw a shock of white or a flash of grey on their way to victory, she didn’t worry for his life but thought to herself instead I’m coming for you, Draco Malfoy.


End file.
